


A New Home

by oneawkwardcookie



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, M/M, Poetic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28926222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneawkwardcookie/pseuds/oneawkwardcookie
Summary: They need a break. They need to rebuild. They need time.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	A New Home

How do you build a home when the sands of time shift every foundation? Wounds heal fast but entropy works harder, makes ruins of brick and stone, crumbles even the hardiest house and turns it into memories.

After South Sudan, after France, after London, they need somewhere new. Copley knows better than to ask questions, but also knows enough to pick somewhere... new.

It's been a fair amount of time, maybe more, since they've been to South Africa; both the country and that part of the continent. Bigger fish to fry, louder calls for help.

Speaking of fish, there's a creek passing behind the bungalow, a wide meandering thing with fallen grasses piled high in parts. Some water pushes forwards, soaking the yellowing strands till they're laden then seeping through. The rest flows round, rippling along their diversion until they resume along the straight path.

"Fish?" Nicky's boots aren't suited to being this close to the water, his navy trousers catching the spray as the water tumbles on.

He raises a pencil towards a quieter patch, practically stilled where it’s sheltered between a fallen branch and a mudbank. Atop the earth towers a heron, charcoal and chestnut feathers rippling slightly in the breeze, beady yellow eyes pinned downwards.

Where there are predators, there is prey.

Nicky's hand rests heavier on his shoulder as he leans against him, lowering himself onto the tree branch. His hand leaves, only for the warmth of his touch to be replaced by the gentle press of his thigh.

He resumes his sketching, scratching out the reeds, smudging out the eddies. There's a sudden movement and the heron rights itself, the fish disappearing into the ravenous bill, gulped down without ceremony, only evidenced by the ripple of black and white on the bird’s neck.

His knuckles crack sharply and a sliver of lead lands softly in the leaves below his feet. He puts down his work.

"We're safe, my love." A hand on his cheek, a temple presented for him to rest his weary head, a wrist presented for him to feel the unceasing flow, the relentless beating, his pulsing life force.

"For how long?" It's not his question, and he doesn't need the answer. He feels like Prometheus, but the wound is taking far longer to heal.

"He needs to learn." Nicky’s voice is like the murmuring of the stream. _Be patient, we have time_ – unspoken words that weave their way through.

"What about us?" He tilts his head back and lays his soul bare; lets his eyes be read and his heart be understood.

Nicky twists his hand until his fingers are pressed up to his wrist. The water flows beside them. It’s an endless cycle, and so are they, joined heartbeats quickening then slowing.

“We’ll learn too. Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> This first came to me at 1am, and it's my first attempt at Kaysanova! If you liked it, kudos and comments are muchly appreciated.


End file.
